Finding the Meaning of Death
by darkfaery15
Summary: Our beloved original heroine is destroyed and reborn, but not through any process as quick and clean as that of the phoenix. She comes in contact with death and despair, with Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, whilst finding love and life in an unfamiliar world. Romantic pairing TBD, will take votes at a later date. :)
1. Chapter 1

Emilee had once dreamed of grand adventures, of goblins and magic, of great battles and clashing swords, but now, at the imminently reasonable age of twenty-three, she reluctantly acknowledged that such a time was unlikely to come for her; no, hers was a world of dreams only, or of memos and smiles plastered on, distant niceties, and a yearning heart. Reality had taught her all too well that if she were to be thrust into some grand tale in this life it would likely be a dystopian horror of bombs and blood and death.

With that cheery thought, and a self-castigating smirk at her oddly pessimistic existentialism this morning, she shoved another sheet of paper into the shredder. Her life of corporate drudgery was not to last, however, for that would make for a very dull tale indeed.

Somewhere, across the pond in Great Britain, through the strands of time, and sideways into another universe an evil group of wizards were hatching a very dastardly plot for our dear heroine to become embroiled in. So comes a tale of goblins and great magic battles, of bombs and blood and death, of stark harsh realities in a world where fantasy _is _the reality, and of how a modern day girl is broken and remade in a world not her own.

* * *

She had been in bed; she knew she had, because that is what one does. They go to work, have dinner, go to bed, and begin the process again and again until they either retire or get driven to a psychotic break by the monotonous drudgery. Only the cycle had been interrupted somehow, or else she was still asleep…but she didn't feel asleep, you know, and usually acknowledging a dream is enough to startle one into wakefulness, but she had best cut off that unproductive train of thought, she thought, as her current situation seemed somewhat dire.

Emilee knew three things: first, that she was still in bed, albeit face down and unable to move her hands or legs, likely caused by the fact that they seemed to be bound by coarse rope to her bed frame; secondly, that she was definitely no longer in her bedroom, as she could feel a not so gentle breeze yanking pained goose bumps to attention on her bare arms and legs; and thirdly, _goddamn_ Toto, she was fairly fucking sure this wasn't Kansas anymore!

"The spell is cast, the deed will yet be done, she is the perfect sacrifice, sent for the ritual, bequeathed by Magic to harness its power. First we must defile what is pure, then we must complete the circle, claiming the magic of the sacrifice for our own…"

And then the world! She thought snidely, more than a little afraid, as the hushed droning voices moved out of her range of hearing. They sound like a weird evil mixture of Polonius and Macbeth's witches, she thought inanely, struggling to keep the tears and a not-so-small urge to scream at bay. Then the darkness consumed her, or, more accurately, she promptly passed out.

* * *

She woke to strange lights flashing in her periphery. No longer bound to her bed, she instead found herself floating several inches off of the ground, limbs outstretched, unable to move so much as an eyelash. The tears came now, streaming down her slack and unresponsive face unhindered, blurring her vision, which became somewhat of a blessing. She wanted, now, to scream, tried to scream, but she could not open her mouth, nor could she make any sound at all, as her very vocal cords seemed paralyzed inside her where they lay. Cloaked figures came into view, metal skulls gleaming for under their hoods; mouths open in a hideous parody of laughter. The world swam wetly in front of her, and she lost the ability to discern more than shapes, mere outlines, but that was both not enough and too much, as they surged toward her, arms raised, light flying at her. Cutting into her, then burning, muscles seizing, bones breaking, as they were poking, prodding, forcing their way inside her, hands bruising, her spine bowing grotesquely, moved by unseen hands. Those beautiful lights touching her, as they touched her, biting, stinging, freezing, spinning…lost, so lost. The blessed darkness now no more than an elusive memory, taunting her with the peace of it, for she could not stop _feeling, _she was a giant pulsing nerve, raw and exposed, and still it could somehow be made _worse _and, somewhat thickly, she rather thought she was insane now, that it was impossible to hurt so. Then they entered her mind, raping that as well as her body, taking away her joy, her memories, her sense of herself, until she was a great gaping nothing, twitching and inside out on the forest floor. And this time she knew her oblivion for a mercy.

* * *

When she came to, she found that, horribly, she had been put back together. Her body was whole, and, even worse, so was her mind. She knew who she was, who she _had _been, but she knew, also, that she was no more than the empty cracked shell of humpty dumpty, glued together, every last piece replaced, but missing something vital in its center, for she recognized the truth: that she was also that gasping, writhing, silently begging hunk of flesh, that they had left rotting with the dead leaves on the forest floor; and that, easily, and quite likely, she could become that thing again. They could do this forever, she thought, they could do this to It, to _her_, break her and fix her like so many porcelain dolls. Thus she knew despair and prayed for Death.

* * *

a/n let me know what you think, everybody!


	2. Chapter 2

The meaning of Death in the Tarot,

*As written in _Divination: Myths and Murky Mumblings _

By Millicent Mauve the Magnificent

**The Death tarot card most often represents change, transformation, and the end of a particular cycle of which one has become increasingly familiar with. Every end can be said to result in a new beginning, for all that exists in the universe is never destroyed, but is simply altered in form and cast in a different direction then where it held residence before. We continually undergo physical and spiritual transformation throughout our lifetimes, and the Death tarot card symbolizes the collective force of these changes, all turning points which allow us to re-shape our current model of the world, of ourselves, and of each other. To exist in a constant state of complacency, fixed in thought and behavior, closed off and fearful of change, is to ignore the opportunity to grow and flourish under new conditions, or to remain in the same environment but with a different perspective, approach, or understanding of our experience within existence.

The Death tarot card is a strong indicator of a dramatic change about to take place, whether this is a physical or spiritual relocation, or even the act of giving up old habits, something new and meaningful is in the works.

* * *

Alone there, kneeling in the soft verdant dirt of the forest floor in a puddle of her own visceral filth, she waited in tense silence for the proverbial other fist to fall. As the day grew later, and the clime colder, the anticipation and corresponding fear and despair increased exponentially. She was meant to be a sacrifice, right? Sacrifice implies death, but perhaps they really meant to keep torturing her perpetually like a mortal Prometheus until all that was left was a gibbering, drooling slice of flesh smeared on the forest floor. Hands bound, behind her, she turned her head and vomited pure bile from her empty stomach, her heart stuttering in her chest. She just wanted it to be over, why were they drawing this macabre play out past its due? _Everyone knows a proper sacrifice ought to be done efficiently on an altar, why go through all this bloody trouble? _The girl she used to be quipped, stirring somewhere in the depths of her wrecked psyche. Then _she _was gone, and she was all that remained, and all she wanted was release from the horror of her existence. The grey cloudy light sank incrementally down past the tree line while she tried to let go of her consciousness, but every moment was a flash back, to their fingernails on her thigh, molten rocks coughed up from a bloody throat, feet stripped of flesh, eyes left untouched, running out of veiling water, dry and painful and seeing bits of herself lying around her, and the rictus grins of their metal faces. The sky shifted into dusk and then came the darkness and she began to shake, because she knew that this was when they would come, here in the dark, and one way or another she had decided, she would die in this place.

* * *

The moon rose, high and full above her, a beauteous thing that would have once brought to mind thoughts of grace and magic, but she knew, somehow, that this time it would bring them, and in their magic there was no grace to be found at all.

They arrived in a swirl of darkness, black cloaks somehow staining the night itself a darker shade of black, with loud pops like gunshots announcing them, one, two, three…seven.

"She is ready," came a deep, disturbingly human, voice from beneath the cowl of first cloaked figure. "If this works, we can finally bring this spell to our Master, and we will rise above the ranks of the lowly, our Lord will reward us above all others and we will cleanse the wizarding world of the filth that dare to walk among us."

* * *

*In case you couldn't tell this is a purely fictional book...

**no, unfortunately I can't claim that I wrote this bit either, I borrowed it from a website about Tarot

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to the Harry Potter franchise, the world of Harry Potter, or characters therein. I do claim Emilee...I'm rather stuck with her in fact...and any decisions she makes during this journey. :)

Reviewers will be given fictional espresso and cyber kittens, or some lovely dark side cookies (-this is not true, but you will get my everlasting gratitude, such as it is)

A/N sorry this chapter was so short, I actually wrote and posted this at work…but give me some reviews, or criticism or what have you and I will gladly post another soon!


	3. Chapter 3

The men, for that was what they had to be, she knew, though it would be easier to think them demons or monsters, yes, monsters, monstrous men she dubbed them, hysterically, moved towards her. With their long black cloaks fading into the dark of the night they seemed to glide through the forest, closer and closer. The figure in the lead extended his arm, long sleeves trailing on the forest floor, a knotted stick (_wand_, her mind corrected), held deftly in hand and with a swish and flick she was floating above them as they moved purposefully through the forest.

There was no discernible path, but at length the group paused while their leader traced glowing symbols in the air with his _wand, _revealing a lush estate in what had previously been nothing but dense forest seconds before. The air around the grounds shimmered like nothing but the entrance to Tír na nÓg and she wondered if perhaps she had been mistaken, if these were fey creatures, evil and immortal and cold, if their metal masks weren't masks at all, but faces, and if they could keep her here, at their mercy for eternity, break her after the sun turned red and the earth crumpled to ash.

This thought was so horrifying, so bone numbing, that by all rights she should have become insensate with terror; she had already done so, before they had healed her mind, and after, she had no pride left to lose, no dignity, no hope, and yet...and yet. Something odd happened deep inside of her, something changed, clicked into place and held. This was not something she would accept. No matter she was powerless, helpless, hopeless, no matter she was broken. A terrible magnificent _will_ rose up inside her and she began to wait. Wait for the inevitable, which she now knew was not necessarily death, but change. It did not matter what they did, how long it took, they would not keep her. Dead or alive she would not let them toy with her forever. She would find a way out...or make one.

* * *

It was with this mindset that she was led over their perfectly manicured ground, littered with shrubberies(1) and wildlife so exotic that she couldn't even begin to categorize it, past the foyer of their temperature controlled castle, down winding shifting moving staircases, to the depths beneath the castle. There, in a sparsely furnished but spacious stone lined room, lay a marble(2) table, or altar, rather, she supposed.

They lowered her almost gently over the altar, her feet coming to rest over the cold stone. Now clad in soft white slippers, she found that she herself wearing flowing robes, also white, she noted wryly; what is this, some perversion of the classic virgin sacrifice? Here's to hoping nobody pulls a dragon out of a hat, she thought.

Quite suddenly she could move again, and at this she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, surreptitiously edging toward the empty air to the left of the altar, only to be met with some sort of invisible force-field. Typical. Typical of what, exactly? She thought, and laughed, visibly startling several of the "robes" and some began to shuffle nervously, unsettled. This rather pleased her, and she shot them an audacious grin along with a rather ferocious mad wink, in for a penny and all. For this was quite obviously the tipping point and since the only worse that could happen would be for her to survive to endure their company, she had best press any advantage, no matter how small.

"Bloody stupid crazy muggle," someone muttered.

"Contain yourselves", snapped the leader in a smooth British accent, "it is time. We will now cast the spell, raise your wands, focus. She has been brought here to us, the perfect sacrifice, and we _can not fail_." he bit out, fairly crowing in his composure.

There was one visible exit from the stone room, lit by glowing balls of light captured in steel wall sconces. Unfortunately to get out that way, she would need to bypass an invisible barrier and get past seven men armed with..._wands_ and _magic._

Well then, that apparently left killing herself, if her death wasn't already their intention, or grabbing hold of one of their wands, assuming she could use it, if they got too close.

* * *

As she was deep in thought the men began to chant, Latin, from the sound of it. She heard the words carpe and vie, which, contextually, was rather ominous, based on her rudimentary knowledge of the language.

Then, once again, she was airborne; not exactly floating, but rather levitating, several inches off the stone tablet, she got the sense that she was not so much being held up by a specific spell as by the massive quantity of magical discharge in the room. The air fairly crackled with it. Seven wands pointed at her, tips glowing (there's a joke in there somewhere, she thought, but this is really not at all funny), all that magic, that energy, directed at her. It flooded her, drawn immediately to its like inside of her, merged with it, absorbed it, railing against whatever thin barrier of flesh or spirit keeping it anchored inside her, and she knew that this had been their aim. To drain her of her spark, her life force, her otherworldly _magic_, and keep it for themselves.

But magic, you see, is a thing of will and intent as much as spells and rituals, and the "robes" had made a mistake. They had gone too far. They had shattered her, broken her, degraded her, made death an enticing dream, but they had left her there, afraid, without answers, without hope even for death. This perhaps would have worked, should have worked, might have if she had no imagination, no notion of how things could get worse. They had meant her to think there was nothing worse than the pain they had brought her, living with the knowledge of it, to accept her fate, to embrace death as a friend, but in leaving her without hope, without an end in sight, hope for release, hope for death, in taunting her with the possibility of an eternity of suffering, they in their hubris thinking one without magic not able to comprehend all the terrible possibilities, well, quite simply, they had erred.

* * *

This woman, in possession of a rather well versed and well used imaginative mind, stripped of hope, was left only with her will, and the determination not to be at their mercy any longer. So, they kept pouring their magic into her, not realizing that they had already failed, and it hurt, but she had been hurt by them before, and she took it into her, the pain and their magic, and held onto it with the strength of someone who has everything to lose, because the only thing worse than what had been done to her already, would be to give them that wonderful glowing essence at the center of herself, her magic, her life, her soul. To have that exist in the evil twisted selves, making them stronger; they would not stop at just her, either, no she was their fucking trial run. So she held on, and slowly they started to falter. They had opened the lines, and they would close only when the magic was gone from one side or the other, she felt that was true with everything she had, so she kept holding on. She felt the first become drained of his magic, his mask dissolving, revealing a lined human face, round cheeks and pudgy jowls, small beady eyes, a mouth open in horror. The men were no longer chanting now, but shouting, some panicking and trying to run, some crying out, "Finite!", but to no avail. One by one they lost this battle of wills, that should never have been a battle at all; seven wizards lost to a non magical girl from a mundane universe. She was the perfect sacrifice, all right, and she wondered distantly if they had had the presence of mind to specify what denoted the term perfection, or if magic had said, "You ask for the perfect sacrifice, and so I send one; a sacrifice perfect for destroying this perversion of a ritual. I go where I am meant, who are you that think to disturb that balance?"

One by one they lost their magic to her, their masks fading away, faces bared, horrified, flawed, human, on their knees before her.

* * *

There was so much magic inside her. The ritual was finished, the magic would never be their again, but it was too much for her to contain, leaking through her pores, her eyes, her fingertips, and then it broke loose, crashing through her, over her, she was drowning in it.

_~ "What do you want", _came a whisper in her mind

**~ "Help me!" **she cried mentally, hunching over, lines of light splitting her skin.

_~ "What do you want?" _The voice pushed at her, pulling out the answer, claiming it.

* * *

The images flowed through her mind, of her owned devising, drawn forth by the magic, looking for a purpose, choppy and incomplete, the truth of what she wanted in her soul: _she was Vengeance, she was a Shield, She was Home and Hearth and Happiness, she was a Candle lighting the way; a visage rose up smiling, a creature of heart and soul and magic, embodied, and she knew it was herself, as she was, past the layer of flesh and skin._

_~ "Ah, child, it is well, it is done." a whispered sigh, a release of breath. _And then...

She was dying, her skin sloughing off her bones. She was dying, changing, battered down on all sides like metal tempered in a forge, and the magic poured out, free. She was free. Remade. And the magic continued on, destroying this place that had been her prison, her deathbed, stone floors cracking, vines and grass tearing through the mortared stoned and blooming with audible puffs, the floor soft and mossy now beneath her feet, littered with flowers: bluebells, daisies, rosemary and rue, and a few tongue-in-cheek poppies. Walls melting away, the ground rose beneath her; until she found herself in a grand spacious hall with large floor length windows, insulated by only the magic that had come from _her_, and through them she saw the _sky,_ prompting her to dash over to them immediately, the wave of magic preceding her, transforming everything in its wake. The grounds were now overgrown with wild forest plants, unconstrained and wild and lovely, and the magic swirled upward joyously shattering the shining bubble they had passed through earlier, momentarily revealing sickening runes glowing blood red, and then swept again, a golden shield left in its place, settling in place with the chiming of bells. The sweet soft sound echoed clearly in the crips air, resonating through her bones, and skipping through the forest, as a siren call, it seemed, as the forest's denizens began to come, milling around the boundary's edge, as she watched, wide-eyed from her window.

* * *

A/N: TBC..please rate and review, about 20 people are reading this, but not a single review *hint hint

1) non-existent cookies and an implied pat on the back to anyone who caught the vague Monty Python reference

2) apparently the magical uses of marble are as follows:anything dealing with change: personal transformation (mental, spiritual, physical) changing jobs or circumstances, survival of "trials by fire."


	4. Chapter 4

_"Come away, O human child! _

_To the waters and the wild _

_With a faery, hand in hand, _

_For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."_

_~W.B Yeats_

* * *

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me if it did, I would be living in a castle, not writing about one (well, actually, I might write about one anyway). I do lay claim to a couple of the creatures below, however, so if you don't recognize it, don't borrow it without telling me :P**

* * *

Emerging from the forest's edge were all sorts of fantastical creatures. Creatures of myth and legend, fact and fiction, creatures she had dreamed of, and some she had not conceived in her wildest imaginings.

Centaurs, their chests bare and proud, stood unafraid several feet from the line of trees, gazing steadily up towards the newly reformed castle where she stood. There was a herd, or flock, of creatures reminiscent in her mind of the legendary griffon, only they had the bodies of something like a horse, rather than a lion. Scattered here and there were several obvious, well, _Trolls, _with their luminescent green skin and mossy patches of hair, complete with loincloths and protruding jaws. Farther into the sheltering forest, she caught glimpses of startling white, a curving spiral horn; a tear slid down her face, because there were _Unicorns._

Under the tall pines, in the dark of the underbrush glowed various eyes, of varying size and shade; there a tuft of dark fur, there a gleaming claw, skittering legs, a scattering of feathers, white brown, gray, gold, all hiding in the sheltering in the shadowy green thicket.

She took an instinctual step forward, and before she knew it she was through the window, past overgrown hedges and stone paths split by wildflowers, until she stood at the edge of the grounds, no twinge of fear felt at her nearness to what were more than a few dubious and unknown beings.

Tiny scuttling creatures with numerous eye-stalks, branch covered stick-like people nearly blending into the trees they clung to, tiny winged blurs of blue, a few stunning nymphs or perhaps dryads flitted around curiously, their attentions fixed upon her as if she was the rare creature here. There, too, were animals she knew from home, badgers and butterflies, deer and squirrels.

Suddenly from out of the forest came a small brown blur of fuzz, dashing towards her, leaping straight through the boundary, which made an odd little sucking popping sound, somehow and sounds itself about her feet. Once reaching this destination it slowed considerably, and she could see it clearly; but it _was _quite literally nothing more than a brown blur really. It stood on four, well, feet she supposed, at a height of about six inches and was about a foot and a half in length, however, its brown fur overwhelmed whatever body it possessed, as no eyes or appendages were visibly discernible through its thick fur, which, at such a volume ought to have been coarse, but as it rubbed against her ankles she could feel that one could liken it to the softest of chenille like those giant animal pillows sold in superstores. It also seemed to be emanating a strong scent of...gingerbread cookies?

She scooped the wriggling creature up, burying her face in its soft scruff, and inhaled the soothing scent, forgetting for a moment that all was not yet finished.

* * *

Such moments cannot last, however, and she was soon jarred from her several seconds of comfort by a discordant cacophony sounding overhead. That, and a rushing of wings, heralded the arrival of yet more guests, which swooped down directly inside of the shield, landing between her and the castle.

This gave her a moment's pause, because if both the adorable creature in her arms and the rather terrifying beings in front of here eyes could break through what she had assumed was some sort of protection, what else would be able to get through? That was a worry for another time, though, nothing to be done about it now, she thought. The new arrivals were rather fearsome to behold: a herd of seven, their bodies vaguely equine, but quite gaunt, ribs showing through taut leathery black skin, heads slightly draconian, bones stark and angled, with great webbed bat-like wings. It was the strangest thing, though, for although they looked like nightmares* and she knew that their stark white eyes ought to be eliciting a feeling of fear, they seemed rather to radiate calm, even the nymphs had ceased their nervous twittering and all the small winged beings seemed to hover in place, transfixed. She rather thought that she ought not to have expectations for anything normal at this point, her own responses included, and quit that mindset rather quickly. She wondered, instead, whether, if she slid her hand over their glistening flanks, if it would be as slippery smooth as it appeared, like seal skin.

* * *

What an odd scene this would make, if anyone were to see it. A vast forest, a tree line teeming with mystical beasties, a glowing bubble of magic, and withing that, our Heroine, neck now wreathed in wriggling brown fuzz, drifting slowly over to a small herd of seven reptilian-bat-like-winged-horses standing stock still outside a newly redeemed stone castled covered in herbs and flowering vines. And, as one would imagine, things were only bound to get odder, and sadder, and more wonderful, and probably a bit more foolish as well.

* * *

She hadn't realized she was moving, but then her outstretched hand met a translucent black coat, its bone hard plane sleek and warm under her palm. A large head swing over, butting at her hand, nostrils whuffing warm air set over horse-like mouths ruined by, about an inch of jutting fangs, white and sharp, which startled her and, as her head jerked up, her eyes were met with the swirling white fog of _Her_ eyes, which were_ hunting in the forest, strange sounds, wings beating away, flee, brought low with a burst of pain/fear/grief/loss/pain/pain/pain, _then_, sorrow and pity, burst of a Great Magic, flying, free, pride, warm comfort_ and she was more than a little astonished as she realized that these beings were empaths, and horror at the thought that this entire herd had been made to experience some small part of her ordeal with her _comfort, acceptance, anger, sorrow, strong-us strong-you, _the eyes spoke to her.

"I'm so sorry." she said, felt, at them.

_Rejection._

_Sick glee, wrongness, pleasure, wrong, wrong, wrong..._

"Oh, dear god, you felt their emotions too, didn't you?" she gagged, and pearlescent eyes radiated sadness and compassion and a deep abiding anger for what had been done to her, for all they had felt, been made to feel in this place, that was their home. She remembered then, because she was not alone, because it was time to end this, and as she strode back into the great hall of the castle, she had a herd of seven at her back.

* * *

There, on the floor, her captors, her tormenters, her _murderers,_ knelt still, prostrate. For a moment she felt a vague surprise, a small tremor, that they should still be here when their taint had been wiped clean from everything else, everything but her, but _their_ memories. But there they were, on the lush wild green her magic had wrought over the cold marble stone floor.

_They_ were defenseless now, magic-less, as human as she had been when they had brought her here, to use her, use her as if she was nothing more than their tool, a prop for their ambitions. _She _had the power now, to do to them what had been done to her. She could thrust _her_ power into them, yank out their intestines, could make _them _crawl, make _them _beg she...couldn't.

She was not them, she was the person she had been, the thing they had made of her, and now the being magic had wrought of her, what she had made of herself, after everything she was still herself, some version of herself, and so, as she stared into their eyes, their empty eyes, empty of magic, of thought, of that indefinable spark, no longer filled with an emptiness of cold uncaring that they had held for her before, she wanted only to finished it. Their deaths came swiftly on the edges of blades conjured, and all she felt was a faint relief at having this final end tied, and the deep aching sorrow that she had a notion would remain with her for quite some time, as their lifeless bodies slumped to the floor, blood pooling around them.

Her winged companions fed then, rending flesh, and she watched it all with her relief and her sorrow, until not a speck of blood or flesh or bone was left to mar this space. Death was finished with this place. Seven satisfied winged beasties whistling and chirping happily, one cute comforting Gingerbread Monster, and she were all that remained.

* * *

*** Nightmares- a shout out to a rather lovely ominous creature created by Piers Anthony- a creature that, as its name might suggest, delivers bad dreams to the other beings in its unique universe.**

**A/N:** Thanks to those of you who are taking the time to follow this story. Once again, reviews are appreciated, please review, you will be given fictional dark side cookies and thoughtful (probably) responses. That said, many thanks to the lovely Andrea for reviewing my first three chapters! Your words were both kind and interesting. I hope to post a new chapter every week, although this one took about two weeks, which will hopefully be the maximum amount of time between chapters barring natural disasters and/or writer's block. :)


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